line of the corridor and saw, to her surprise, that a man was standing with his hand on the door of the compartment occupied by the lady in the mink coat. That is to say, she thought it was the compartment. Probably, however, she was mistaken. He stood there for a moment or two with his back to her, seeming uncertain and hesitating in his attitude. Then he slowly turned, and with an odd feeling of fatality, Katherine recognised him as the same man whom she had noticed twice before—once in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel and once in Cook’s offices. Then he opened the door of the compartment and passed in, drawing it to behind him.
An idea flashed across Katherine’s mind. Could this be the man of whom the other woman had spoken—the man she was journeying to meet.
Then Katherine told herself that she was romancing. In all probability she had mistaken the compartment.
She went back to her own carriage. Five minutes later the train slackened speed. There was the long plaintive hiss of the Westinghouse brake, and a few minutes later the train came to a stop at Lyons.